


Why Does The Wind Blow?

by TintagelCastle



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Inappropriate Wrist Fondling, Canon Compliant, LeFou has self-Esteem Issues, M/M, Mrs Potts is Everybody's Mother, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Love, Stanley is a Worrywart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintagelCastle/pseuds/TintagelCastle
Summary: It just does.The curse is broken and LeFou tries to get his life back on track. He's found a place but the memory of Gaston is not easy to shake and he's found himself avoiding Stanley.He's not entirely sure why.





	Why Does The Wind Blow?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neriine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neriine/gifts).



> For the Summer of Stanfou exchange! 
> 
> For @neriine , who asked for _"Something with mutual pining/not actually unrequited love would be really nice - preferably canon setting!"_
> 
> (I will probably fill out the other two prompts at a later date, but I hope this is what you were looking for!!)

The place was in complete chaos. 

Voices of villager and animated objects alike were blending together in one tumultuous shout, echoing off the stone walls like thunder. Everyone pushed and shoved in either escape attempts or attempts to drive the others back. 

LeFou felt himself buffeted on all sides as he squeezed his way through the fighting, keeping his grip tight on the teapot. That was alive. And could talk. What a strange turn of events this evening had turned out to be. 

“Steady love!” the teapot called up to him as he ducked to avoid Madame Renault’s mad dash down the staircase – screaming language LeFou was sure would turn the local pastor green if he heard it – to the door. A portion of his mind nagged at him to try and find Gaston but he pushed it far away, feeling the lingering ache where a harpsichord had pinned him to the floor not ten minutes prior. He was more preoccupied with getting away from the fighting, trying desperately not to let the teapot slip from his increasingly sweaty hands. 

The castle eventually became emptier, fear of magical talking objects apparently far outweighing any influence Gaston had over the villagers. LeFou paused on the landing of the grand staircase to catch his breath, setting the teapot down on a wheeled tray that had somehow made its way over to them. LeFou briefly wondered how it had gotten up the stairs but figured that he really ought to have stopped asking these sorts of things as soon as kitchenware had sprung to life in front of his eyes. 

“Thank you.” The teapot said primly as she settled back onto the tray with a little shuffle. 

“No problem.” LeFou replied, somewhat hysterically. He brought up a shaking hand to try and brush his hair into a semblance of order. The teapot regarded him with an expression that could only be described as kind.

“That was a very brave thing you did, my dear.” She smiled. LeFou opened his mouth to protest, to say that nothing he had done in his life could ever be described as ‘brave’. From abandoning Maurice, lying for Gaston to helping storm a castle to kill a beast that had done him no wrong, every even causing a hot wave of shame to curl through him. If anything, LeFou was the worst and most selfish coward in France. 

Perhaps she saw all this on his face, because she cut across him before any words could be said. 

“I mean it. You saved me didn’t you?”

Blushing a little, LeFou managed a shaky smile. She smiled back.

“What’s your name?” 

“LeFou.”

“That’s not your name surely?”

Lefou shrugged at her question. “It might as well be.”

She regarded him for a moment, her eyes strangely _human_ on the glazed porcelain. Something about her reminded LeFou of a favourite aunt, or a mother. The compassion in her gaze made him shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. 

“What’s yours?” He asked in a blatant attempt to redirect the conversation away from himself. She indulged him by giving a small movement like a nod. 

“You can call me Mrs Potts, lamb.” 

_I know a potter you might know._ The thought flew across his mind in a flash, oddly mundane among the events of the evening. He bit back a laugh.

Suddenly, a loud rumbling noise tore through the commotion, and LeFou felt the world shaking beneath his feet. Steadying himself on the banister with one hand he saw dust fall in clouds throughout the chamber. Mrs Potts gave a gasp as the tray she was sat on jolted.

“Oh no…” she said, more to herself than LeFou. LeFou could hear the other objects cheering to themselves as the flames from the village torches receded to pinpricks in the dense forest. He looked to her, taken aback by the stricken look on her face.

“What-?” he began, reaching a hand out to her. Ignoring him, she whirled around and began to quickly wheel around, almost frantic.

“Chip…Chip! My son, where is my son?!”

“I don’t understand.” LeFou began again, her alarm pricking up his own. “Please, I can help!”

“Oh, my little boy where _is_ he?” 

She didn’t seem to hear him, instead speeding off faster than he could follow. He threw out an arm ineffectually, his hand outstretched in the air and a plea for her to wait dying on his lips. The rumbling had stopped but the silence seemed full of its echoes. 

His chest still ached from the harpsichord, though his basic medical knowledge he’d acquired from following Gaston onto the battlefield told him he’d, by some miracle, escaped broken ribs and any real lasting damage. However, it made his breath – always a little short when he ran – a little more shallow. He stood on the landing, unsure of what to do. Years of habit were hard to ignore, and he felt his body turn to where Gaston had run up a side staircase. His foot was on the bottom step when he paused. 

_Why should I?_

He knew the answer, of course he did. He loved Gaston. It was a fact of life as much as the sky being blue and oceans crashing to the shore. Gaston was his friend, his comrade. It had always been the two of them. It was LeFou’s fault Gaston had lost his way recently, he should have been more careful.

It had always been the two of them. 

_Mrs Potts was so distressed…_

Years of friendship had meant nothing after all, it seemed. Gaston’s pride had won out in the end; no matter how often LeFou had tried to keep it contained. This whole castle was enchanted and had sprung to life to defend the so-called monster within. A whole castle, and Gaston hadn’t even paused to make sure LeFou was alright. 

Still, LeFou loved him. And love was all that mattered wasn’t it? Love was to forgive…

_Why should I?_

LeFou took his foot off the stairs and began to run in the opposite direction after Mrs Potts. 

**

They were gone. All of them. 

LeFou stopped short in the doorway to the courtyard, red faced and out of breath. He saw Mrs Potts on a tray with a small cracked teacup that he could only assume was her son on the tray. He smiled a little and was about to call out when he noticed they were too still, too silent. 

It wasn’t just them, the golden candelabra LeFou had seen running amok between the legs of the other villagers was also still and solid, his arms now bent into stiff shapes. LeFou could have sworn he had heard him laughing earlier.

The feather duster that had flapped in his face also led on the ground as if she had never flown. The clock simply went on ticking.

Looking at them, it was difficult to believe they had ever been alive at all. 

A grief LeFou could not adequately describe filled him, chilling his skin and stinging his eyes. He slid down the doorway jerkily to sit upon the snow dusted stones. The winter air, so at odds with the summer breeze back at Villeneuve, felt heavy and thick, filled with nothing but LeFou’s heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock.

“LeFou?” 

LeFou started, looking around to a figure behind him. He had an impression of pink ruffles and silk before his eyes settled on the face. LeFou blinked.

“Stanley?”

Stanley stared at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact he was wearing a woman’s dress. He held a powdered wig in his hand at his side. His eyes were lined with kohl, though it was a little smeared, the same with the lipstick on his mouth. 

LeFou wasn’t quite sure how to ask him about it before Stanley was next to him with a rustle of fabric, dropping the wig and placing his hands on LeFou’s shoulders. His painted face was peering intently at LeFou, his voice shaking a little as he spoke;

“Are you alright?! I saw Gaston running by himself and then I heard someone say you got crushed by a piano?!”

“It was a harpsichord actually-”

“Oh my _God_ Lefou-”

“I-I’m alright Stanley.” LeFou assured him, patting him a little awkwardly on the arm. Stanley was a nice enough guy, but LeFou could barely remember speaking more than a dozen words to him in one go. Stanley was usually with Tom and Dick, only really interacting with him when Gaston needed them. Having Stanley’s face less than a foot from his own, staring at him with concern was a little disconcerting, to say the least. 

Stanley clearly didn’t take LeFou’s word for it. Quick, frantic hands began patting him down the arms and chest, evidently searching for imagined injuries. LeFou’s face burned scarlet. Once Stanley was satisfied that LeFou was not hovering at the point of death he sat back, the skirts puffing out to the sides. For a few seconds they sat in the doorway, regarding each other. To cover his confusion at Stanley’s panic over him, LeFou cleared his throat. 

“You look nice.” 

“Hm?” Stanley frowned in confusion, as though distracted by something. It wasn’t until LeFou indicated the dress that he looked down at himself and immediately turned a shade of crimson to rival that of his lipstick.

“Oh, _merde_!” He hissed to himself, clutching at the various ribbons and lace that decorated his clothes. “I forgot, LeFou I’m-”

“Don’t panic Stan,” LeFou cut in, reaching across to capture one of Stanley’s arms as it tried to tear at the sleeves. “It looks good.” 

Now it was Stanley’s turn to stare in confusion. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Pink suits you.”

Stanley lowered his eyes and gently tugged his arm back, LeFou released him and Stanley gave his hair a self-conscious pat. “Th-Thanks. I…I feel…”

He cut himself off with a sigh, giving his now torn sleeve a half-hearted pull up to his shoulder and shaking his head to himself. “The talking wardrobe gave it to me.” 

LeFou felt his eyes drift over to the large turquoise dresser that stood as lifeless as the others just outside the door. Stanley’s gaze followed his and LeFou saw shoulders slump out of the corner of his eyes.

“Oh…” Stanley breathed, taking the sight of the frozen objects in as though he hadn’t spotted them before. “She’s gone...they….they were _real_ weren’t they?”

“Yes.” LeFou replied, looking at Mrs Potts on her wheeled tray. “Though I think it’ll all feel like a bizarre dream in the morning.” 

They got no further with their musings when another loud sound like a thunderclap split the air. The air rapidly grew lighter as though the sun was physically spilling down the walls like paint. Stanley gave a yelp and jumped to his feet, grabbing LeFou’s hand and pulling him out to the open air of the courtyard as the castle once again began to rumble and shake. LeFou could only stare, mouth open, as broken stones rolled up the walls to fix themselves in their original places. The castle was rebuilding itself. 

A long operatic note blasted from beside them as the wardrobe burst open in a hurricane of colour. Stanley dragged LeFou back a few more steps and LeFou followed without complaint. In his awe of the castle, he had forgotten Stanley had a hold of his arm. 

In years to come, LeFou would never ever be able to adequately describe the wonder of the following few minutes. Where objects once stood, humans stood now. The golden candelabra was now a golden clothed man, embracing the man who stood as reliable and precise as an old clock. A beautiful woman with feathers in her hair swept her way through the courtyard. People began to spill back into the castle grounds and LeFou watched as Mr Potts ran forwards to take up a motherly looking woman in his arms. Her voice rang out with ‘dear’s and ‘darling’s. He couldn’t help but smile. She was just as he imagined her to be. 

The prince LeFou had somehow forgotten even existed came into the courtyard with a joyous Belle on his arm and LeFou grinned along with the others. It wasn’t until Mrs Potts came over to them that LeFou felt Stanley finally let go of him.

**

“I’m so sorry LeFou.”

Belle’s voice was so soft and heartfelt, and that’s what made it all the worse. 

It had taken them two days to recover Gaston’s body from the rubble. LeFou only caught a glimpse of his scarlet coat when he was quickly bundled away by the combined force of Mrs Potts and Plumette. Stanley had gone to help the others pull what was left of Gaston with a parting warning of ‘don’t look’ to LeFou but LeFou had gone down anyway. He had to be certain. Gaston dead? It didn’t seem possible. No matter how monstrous Gaston had turned that night, it seemed cruel for his body to have been dashed upon the stones like an unwanted doll. But there had been no clinging onto the childish belief that Gaston could be alive, that one glimpse had been enough. 

It stung. It stung like nothing LeFou had ever known. Something vital had been ripped away, leaving a gaping bloody hollow in his chest. He felt weightless, he felt heavy. 

Mrs Potts had fussed and made him endless cups of tea and gave him endless pats on the hand. He had been given a job helping the staff at the castle, though he mainly found himself derailed by Mrs Potts who admitted she was quickly beginning to see him as a son. Something LeFou was incredibly touched by. 

“It just seems like you need a mother.” She had told him tearfully not long after. They had spent the entire evening crying happily at each other in the privacy of the kitchen when the other occupants had retired to their rooms for the night. 

Stanley had also found himself swept under someone’s wing. LeFou frequently saw him in the company of the irrepressible Madame Garderobe. The opera diva had taken quite a shine to her _‘beautiful boy’_ and began to dress him in her finest creations. Though she made him gentleman’s clothes for more public things, LeFou knew there were a few beautifully tailored ball gowns hanging around. Privately, LeFou thought it a little unfair that Stanley looked good in both.

Though that was none of his business. 

Every time he passed Stanley would raise his eyes and give him a smile. LeFou tried to return them but would usually take too long and by the time he’d gotten the smile to his face Stanley would have already turned the corner and gone. Sometimes they would exchange brief pleasantries about the weather or their duties. LeFou noticed Stanley had a nice, bright smile. 

How had he never noticed before?

As soon as the thought formed in his mind he felt it chased away by an echo of Gaston’s laugh, far more cruel and mocking than he remembered. 

No. He wouldn’t go down that road. It only led to humiliation and resentment. Stanley was a pleasant acquaintance, that was all. 

That’s all it could ever be. 

**

The celebration ball was the most opulent and splendid thing LeFou had ever experienced, everything was draped in finery and the air was scented with summer flowers. LeFou had never particularly liked champagne but couldn’t find it in himself to refuse the glass pressed into his hand by Lumiere. 

“Enjoy yourself _mon ami,_ there’s nothing as wonderful as a Royal party!” 

“I haven’t been invited to many parties Lumiere, I’ll just have to take your word for it!” He laughed, swaying in time to the musicians at the far end of the hall. 

“You will dance, yes?” Lumiere smiled, indicating the floor with a flowery gesture of his arm. LeFou winced.

“Perhaps not, I don’t want to embarrass some poor girl-”

“Nonsense! You won’t be so bad next to Cogsworth, he dances like a bull.”

LeFou smiled despite himself as Lumiere glided away, no doubt to find Plumette. He watched the dancers spin around, Belle and Adam like jewels among them, seemingly lighting the room with their happiness. He spotted Stanley in the crowd on the arm of a short, pretty brunette, laughing at something she had said. He looked amazing. 

LeFou looked away. 

The ball continued throughout most of the day and crept into the evening, LeFou found himself bold enough to ask a few girls for a dance. The music swept him around the room, feeling the joy of those around him seep into his bones and buoying him up. He laughed and smiled at his partners, feeling much more like his usual cheerful self than the pale imitation he knew he had been lately. 

The music must have swept him too far. He felt the girl he was dancing with change partners and suddenly found himself dancing with someone much taller than most girls in the room.

Stanley must have just been as confused and shocked as he was, if his face was anything to go by. LeFou let out a slightly embarrassed laugh, prepared for Stanley to jump back, to draw back his arms. It would be a shame, Stanley’s hands were warm and solid and sure on his waist and arm. His hair was artfully curled and there was a trace of kohl around his large, dark eyes. There was warmth in his eyes, a softness in the brown that had never been there is Gaston’s steady, flint-eyed gaze. LeFou swallowed heavily, screaming at himself to look away but found he couldn’t. 

Stanley smiled, wide and clear. He didn’t jump back as LeFou expected, but instead spun them both around in a circle, never breaking the time set by the music and others around them. 

“Well, this is a surprise.” Stanley laughed, dipping around LeFou in a circle as the other ladies were doing with their male partners. LeFou felt the heat flood his face as he took Stanley’s hand in accordance with the steps. 

“Sorry.” He replied, as if there were any other sort of proper response. Stanley laughed again.

“I’m not.” 

The dance ended a little sooner than LeFou would have liked. He had been expecting glances, muttered comments, even laughter from the other guests. Had Gaston been present, LeFou would have found himself the subject of much uproarious teasing, a shove or two that he would have pretended to find amusing but would secretly hate. There was nothing of the sort here. If anything, LeFou thought he saw Mrs Potts grinning madly at him from the sides of the ballroom.

“I-I didn’t know you could dance.” He said to Stanley to fill the awkward silence that followed the music’s end. 

“I can’t really.” Stanley replied with a shrug. “I enjoy it though, Madame Garderobe had to teach me how not to tread on people’s toes.”

“She taught you female steps too?”

Stanley flushed a little, darting a glance at LeFou and looking down to concentrate on the marble floor. “Came in handy didn’t it? I can’t complain.”

LeFou realised he couldn’t complain either. He felt an urge to keep Stanley near him, to stay in his company. There was something about the man that LeFou felt himself drawn to, not just admiration like he’d felt for Gaston. But….something.

He shut that thought down, biting his tongue. There was no way Stanley would feel that same draw. Stanley was an attractive boy, and LeFou knew that he was second only to Gaston in holding the attention of the village girls. LeFou knew he wasn’t _anyone’s_ first choice, female or otherwise. LeFou was lucky he got this. 

Better to deny everything. Even when it hurt. 

He bowed, a little clumsily. “Well, it was a pleasure.”

Stanley’s small smile seemed to fade into a frown as he returned the gesture. LeFou couldn’t blame him; there was no need for Stanley to be polite and pleasant now the dance was over. No need to plaster a smile on for little old LeFou. 

They parted ways, Stanley seemed on the verge of saying something, but was already being approached by a young pretty thing. LeFou made his way back over to the side-lines whilst Stanley was distracted, catching sight of Mrs Potts shaking her head at him with a look of exasperation. 

“What?” He asked her, all innocence. She sighed. 

“Since when were you so bloody _blind?_ ” 

Try as he might, she wouldn’t say anything further.

** 

Months crawled by and winter once again came to the castle. 

LeFou shook the snow out of his hair as he tramped his way into the corridor. He’d been helping in the garden, pulling out various vegetables for the cooks to use for the next few days. There was dirt caked under his fingernails and a few bloody knuckles where he’d run afoul of someone’s errant trowel. He wanted to head into the kitchen to grab some hot water straight from their hearth and wash his hands off, no sense getting it into the finery. 

The kitchen was empty when he entered, but the small fire was left crackling in its grate, a kettle left hanging over it for later use. LeFou gratefully poured himself a bowl of steaming water and grabbed a rag to set about washing his hands. 

Someone opened the kitchen door and walked in behind him. He started a little and turned to look. 

“Heard you bled all over the pumpkins.” Stanley said good-naturedly. 

LeFou felt himself flush again. Ever since the ball he’d taken great care to not run into Stanley too often, lest he embarrass himself or the other man. It hadn’t been easy. Stanley had seemed to materialise wherever LeFou happened to be, on his way to some task or other. LeFou kept the conversations short and to the point, almost to the point of rudeness. He knew he was being a little unfair, but experience had taught him it was far better to keep someone at a distance than to set yourself up for disappointment. 

“Careful, Chip will be spreading rumours I’ve cut my hand off.” 

Stanley hummed a little in agreement, taking off his ridiculously big tricorn hat and handing it off the side of the hearth. LeFou didn’t look at him, keeping his attention on ensuring the broken skin around his knuckles was clean from dirt. He felt the heavy drag of a chair being pulled out and heard Stanley sit down heavily a few feet away from him. 

For a while neither of them spoke. LeFou shook his hands and began wiping them with a cloth when Stanley cleared his throat. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

LeFou stared at him, the denial springing to his lips. The words never came, however, as Stanley’s eyes bore into him. LeFou sighed and kept wiping his hands, the movements small and deliberate to avoid betraying how clammy they suddenly felt. 

“Where did you get that impression?” He said, very carefully. 

“The fact that you practically run whenever you see me? The fact that you make excuses of being busy whenever I try to talk to you? Mrs Potts told me? Honestly I could go on.”

LeFou sniffed and, still very careful, put the cloth down. His hands still felt damp. Opening his mouth to reply he turned to look at the other man but Stanley cut him off.

“Look, I didn’t follow you down here to accuse you of this, that, or the other. I don’t really care for an argument. I’m just looking for the reason _why._ ”

LeFou’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he swallowed in an attempt to open his seemingly closing throat. 

He should lie. He should make something up about Mrs Potts was mistaken, that he was truly sorry how cold it seemed but he really was busy. He should, he _should_ -

Stanley didn’t seem to notice, but dropped his eyes and began examining his own knuckles in front of him. 

“Are…” Stanley paused, as if searching for the words, “Are you…uncomfortable…w-with me?”

“Uncomfortable?” LeFou parroted stupidly, blinking at Stanley who was now the one avoiding his eyes. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Oh I don’t _know_ LeFou!” Stanley snapped irritably. He flexed his hands a few times before taking another deep, steadying breath. “What else am I supposed to think? What is the dress?”

“What? _No- _”__

__“Well then it must be me! I know you think you’re probably being kind but you _know_ how I feel about you and…and it’s not fair!”_ _

__LeFou was stunned. His brain seemed to completely abandon him as he stared at Stanley’s angry, hurt expression. They sat for what seemed like a hundred heartbeats in silence, and then Stanley pushed himself out of his chair roughly._ _

__“God I’m an idiot. Garderobe made a mistake. I should go-”_ _

__“Wait.” LeFou blurted, instinctively grasping Stanley’s hand to hold him there. Stanley glanced down at their hands, eyes widening. LeFou swallowed again._ _

__“You…” LeFou heard himself trail off, unsure how to proceed. Stanely’s words echoed almost painfully in his head. “Feel?...I thought…”_ _

__“Thought what?” Stanley asked, his voice infinitely softer than it had been two seconds ago. “You thought I hated you?”_ _

__“No…no.” LeFou sighed, giving Stanely’s hand a gentle tug to come back to the table. Stanley complied willingly, sitting back down with their hands still linked. “I thought you were just being polite.”_ _

__Now it was Stanley’s turn to stare, the crackling of the fire suddenly very loud in LeFou’s ears. The angry expression on the other man’s face had already melted away, replaced by something soft, curious, almost beseeching. LeFou let out a self-deprecating like chuckle._ _

__“I mean, why me?”_ _

“You might as well ask why the wind blows.” Stanley said, gripping LeFou’s hand a fraction tighter. “Or why snow is cold. It just _is_ LeFou. I can’t answer why.” 

__LeFou’s breath caught. “God, I’m so _sorry_ Stanley.”_ _

__“Don’t be. I thought maybe _you_ hated me.”_ _

__LeFou blinked hard, feeling tears sting his eyes as he shook his head vehemently. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”_ _

__Stanley barked a laugh, far too shaky and harsh to be genuine. LeFou dared a closer look, and found Stanley’s eyes just as wet as his._ _

__“I can’t help but blame Gaston for this misunderstanding.” He smiled ruefully, only to turn serious again as LeFou tensed. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just…you loved him.”_ _

__“I loved him.”_ _

__“Yes…” Stanley breathed, a terrible hope in his eyes. “Do you still-?”_ _

__“No.” LeFou said sharply, ignoring Stanley’s incredulous look, as if the other man were still expecting a refusal. “I did. But that’s past. He…he wasn’t what I convinced myself he was.”_ _

__Stanley nodded in understanding, adjusting his grip on LeFou’s hand and bringing it to his lips. LeFou felt a kiss pressed to his injured knuckles and his heart stuttered in response._ _

__“Then, if I have a chance,” Stanley mused, turning Lefou’s hand over in his, exposing his wrist when the sleeve – still dirty from the garden – “I would like to declare my intention to court you. Properly. Like you deserve.”_ _

__LeFou felt the heat turn his face crimson as Stanley’s eyebrow flickered upwards for a brief second before his head bent forward, pressing a warm kiss to the cool skin of LeFou’s inner wrist. LeFou couldn’t breathe as Stanley’s eyes rose back up to meet his, full of intensity and intent. Dumbly, he nodded jerkily and Stanley grinned, wider and easier than the polite little smiles LeFou usually saw._ _

__“I’ll see you at dinner.” He said simply, standing once more. LeFou’s hand was still hovering in the air, the spot Stanley had kissed still somehow burning. He continued to sit, head still reeling. Stanley bowed once more, a little _too_ enthusiastically and practically skipped to the door, opening it and nearly running into a surprised looking Mrs Potts._ _

__LeFou barely heard their brief conversation. _Did that really just happen? Am I dreaming?_ _ _

__Then sting in his knuckles when he grazed them across the material of the cloth reminded him that, fantastically, he _was_ awake and that Stanley had done something incredibly intimate and borderline improper in the royal kitchens. _ _

___What a strange turn of events this morning was turning out to be._ _ _

__The bustling form of Mrs Potts barrelled into his view as she sat down in the same chair Stanley had recently vacated._ _

__“-ew it. I _knew_ it!” She was squealing, patting LeFou excitedly on his cheek. “Tell me, is everything alright?”_ _

__LeFou glanced at the still open door Stanley had just gone through, then back at the practically luminous face of his favourite woman in the whole castle, then down to his own reflection – still blushing – in the dirty water in the bowl._ _

__“You know what Beatrice?” He smiled, “I reckon they will be.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> And thus LeFou was haunted all night by the Ghost of Smut Yet To Come (pun not intended). 
> 
> I hope this was okay for you!


End file.
